MarshMellow
by akiraxdeidara
Summary: MelloxNear.  Mello goes over to the SPK.  Don't like yaoi?  Don't read then.  R


"Near, there is someone here to see you," said Gevanni, on of Near's SPK members. "Hmm... send them in..." said Near, twirling his white hair with one finger and glancing over towards the member as he then went back to playing with the robots and finger puppets. The blond boy stepped into the room, his hair a obvious mess - as if he hadn't even touched it in days, sleeping on it constantly to produce knots and tangles, but it wasn't as if it were sticking on end.

"Ah, if it isn't Mello," said Near as he stood up slowly, keeping his slouched, L-like stance, glancing towards the blond who simply made a grunt of annoyance. "What is it you want? I thought that we were enemies." Mello gave a lot grumble and spoke, "Shut up." "Oh wait. We have a common enemy, don't we? So you could say we are allies," added the white-haired boy, twirling his curled hair in his finger. Mello said, "Quiet, Near."

Near paused a moment and looked over at Gevanni, saying, "Gevanni, please leave for a while. I'm going to have a talk with him." Gevanni nodded and bowed politely, "Of course, Near."

"I forgot," said the younger of the two as the door slammed shut, "You hate me." It was as if the room froze in place and Mello was unsure what to say. He was pinned in such an uncomfortable spot, and most likely if he tried to speak, Near would just give him a smart remark. "Of course though, I was always supposed to be L's successor, because you know that you always came in second."

Mello snarled at him, not wanting to reply this time. Sure, he could think of witty replies, but he didn't want to - knowing that Near would just beat him at his own game. Near held his robot in one arm as he slowly walked over to Mello. Mello gave another growl, watching his every movements. Even if he was the leader of a mafia, he had to be cautious about the closest of enemies.

Near reached his hand forward and placed his index finger on the zipper of Mello's leather shirt. That finger added quite a bit of pressure as it slid down his chest, bringing the zipper with it. Mello's face burned as he saw his childhood friend, and now enemy, doing as he pleased. Near slid his hand into the shirt, using that one hand to make it fall down the others shoulders. "You aren't stopping me or questioning me," spoke Near, mostly to himself as he then placed his hand on Mello's forehead. He began to trace the scar all the way down to Mello's shoulder. Mello gave a low groan when the small fingers of the white-haired boy grazed over the crossing between his shoulder and neck.

...

"Mello," said Near, repeating his statement for almost the tenth time, "Listen to me," not even seeming to ask what he had groaned about. Mello opened his closed eyes, his cheeks turning red as he lifted his gloved hand and placed it over his nose and cheeks. "I'm listening," he rumbled lowly, "Speak." Near looked at Mello and said, "It appears that in this situation, there is no choice but for us to work together. We are after a common goal, aren't we?" Mello growled once again, a bit of a habit he picked up on, "No way am I working with you!" reluctant once again. Mello began to think, _When did I start to have that dream...? That Gevanni person isn't here..._ snapping back into reality soon after. He looked at Near, who then said, "Mihael, it is quite odd," getting a snap from the blond, "It's Mello! Don't you dare call me that Nate!" Near closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and said, "And for you, my name isn't 'Nate' any longer." He looked at him plainly.

Mello grunted and shifted himself a bit, staggering back. "Mello," said Near, "If I may ask, what was that you were daydreaming about?" Mello turned a bit red again and shook his hair over his face. Near lifted his hand and placed it on Mello's heavily scarred cheek, standing on his toes and planting his lips gently against Mello's. Mello turned even redder as Near himself blushed lightly on his pale face.

"Don't marshMello's match with white?" whispered the white-haired boy against the blond's smirking lips, referring to the whiteness of his own hair.


End file.
